“I want to hear the stories now, if that’s all right. I want to hear the fairy tales from Miamas.”
And then Elsa whispers calmly that Mum has to close her eyes but only halfway, and then Mum does as she says, and Elsa has a thousand questions but does not ask any of them. Instead she talks about the cloud animals and the enphants and the regretters and lions and trolls and knights and the Noween and Wolfheart and the snow-angels and the sea-angel and the dream hunters, and she starts talking about the Princess of Miploris and the two princelings who fought for her love, and the witch who stole the princess’s treasure, but by then Mum and Halfie are asleep.
And Elsa still has a thousand questions but does not ask any of them. She just covers Mum and Halfie with the blanket and kisses Mum on the cheek and forces herself to be brave. Because she has to do what Granny made her promise to do: protect the castle, protect her family, protect her friends.
Mum’s hand fumbles for her as she’s standing up, and just as Elsa is about to go, Mum whispers in a half-asleep state:
“All the photos on the ceiling in your grandmother’s bedroom, darling. All the children in the photos. They were the ones who came to the funeral today. They’re grown-up now. They were allowed to grow up because your granny saved their lives. . . .”
And then Mum is asleep again. Elsa is not entirely sure that she even woke up.
“No shit, Sherlock,” whispers Elsa as she switches off the lamp. Because it wasn’t so hard working out who the strangers were. It was forgiving them that was hard.
Mum sleeps with a smile on her lips. Elsa carefully shuts the door.
The flat smells of dishcloth, and George is collecting used coffee cups. The strangers were all here today drinking coffee after the funeral. They smiled sympathetically at Elsa and Elsa hates them for it. Hates that they knew Granny before she did. She goes into Granny’s flat and lies on Granny’s bed. The streetlight outside plays against the photos on the ceiling, and, as she watches, Elsa still doesn’t know if she can forgive Granny for leaving Mum on her own so she could save other children. She doesn’t know if Mum can forgive it either. Even if she seems to be trying.
She goes out the door, into the stairwell, thinking to herself that she’ll go back to the wurse in the garage. But instead, she sinks listlessly onto the floor. Sits there forever. Tries to think but only finds emptiness and silence where usually there are thoughts.
She can hear the footsteps coming from a couple floors down—soft, padding gently, as if they’re lost. Not at all the self-assured, energetic pacing the woman in the black skirt used to have when she was still smelling of mint and talking into a white cable. She wears jeans now. And no white cable. She stops about ten steps below Elsa.
“Hi,” says the woman.
She looks small. Sounds tired, but it’s a different kind of tiredness than usual. A better tiredness, this time. And she smells of neither mint nor wine. Just shampoo.
“Hello,” says Elsa.
“I went to the churchyard today,” says the woman slowly.
“You were at the funeral?”
The woman shakes her head apologetically. “I wasn’t there. Sorry. I . . . I couldn’t. But I . . .” She swallows the words. Looks down at her hands. “I went to my . . . my boys’ graves. I haven’t been there in a very long time.”
“Did it help?” asks Elsa.
The woman’s lips disappear.
“I don’t know.”
Elsa nods. The lights in the stairwell go out. She waits for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Finally the woman seems to gather all her strength into a smile, and the skin around her mouth doesn’t crack quite as much anymore.
“How was the funeral?” she asks.
Elsa shrugs.
“Like a normal funeral. Far too many people.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to share one’s sorrow with people one doesn’t know. But I think . . . there were many people who were very fond of your grandmother.”